


B.A.P song series: 1004

by rosegukk



Series: B.A.P song series [2]
Category: B.A.P
Genre: F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12516344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegukk/pseuds/rosegukk
Summary: "Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?"





	B.A.P song series: 1004

The wind howls and tendrils of purple lightning stretch across the sky searching for a way to ground itself. The spring storms were frequent, but tonight seemed especially bad. A crack of thunder drowns out the movie playing on your TV before the screen goes black. You sigh and give up on finishing the film, pushing yourself up from the couch and padding quietly to your room.

You always enjoyed storms; the pattering of rain against windowpanes, the warm scent of the earth after the downpour subsided. To you it was relaxing. With a smile on your face you climb into bed, burying yourself under the covers before falling asleep to the rumble of thunder and the tapping of rain on your window.

You awake suddenly to a strike of lightning and a clap of thunder that sounded too close for comfort. Another bolt of light illuminates your room, causing you to flinch. The lightning was far too close, right in your front yard if you had to guess. Quickly you jump out of bed and rush to the living room where you can see the yard, worried that the lighting may have felled a tree. You strain your eyes, barely able to see anything through the dark and sheets of rain. You are so focused that when a third bolt crashes to the soaked earth you fall back in surprise. You place a hand over your heart and take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Only after your heartbeat has slowed back to normal do you realize that all is quiet. The rain no longer thrashed against your house, thunder no longer rolled across the sky, lighting ceased its journey to find its way down. You were perplexed; there was no way the storm could have subsided so suddenly. Standing, you walk over to the front door, pausing to pull on a pair of mud boots. You flick on the porch light and open the door. The smell of something being singed hits your senses, not the clean scent of the earth you were expecting. Fear pulses through you at the thought of a tree or part of your house being on fire, but you can see no signs of flames.

Your eyes scan over the front yard, the porch light only reaching so far. Just out of reach of the light you notice a dark patch in the grass. That must be where the lightning struck you think. You reach back inside the door and grab a flashlight from the small table. You click it on to make sure it works and then walk down the steps towards the burnt grass. As you get closer the beam of light falls on something that is most certainly not part of the ground. A man. You let out a shriek and drop the flashlight which rolls a short distance away, taking its light with it.

Cautiously you step closer to the man. What was he doing here? Did he get caught in the storm? Was he struck by the lighting? The thoughts race through your head as you approach the man. The moon peaks out from behind the cloud for a moment, but that is all you need to see what lies on the ground. You suck in a breath at the sight before you. The man lies there facedown, bloody and unconscious, surrounded by white feathers stained scarlet. You panic; you’re at least an hour away from the nearest hospital. There’s no way you could make it there in time. Your mind races and you quickly realize that you are his only chance at survival. You reach down, grabbing the man by his wrists and drag him onto the front porch.

The dim light from the bare bulb overhead reveals the true horror of the mangled flesh of his back. Two deep, rugged cuts run parallel to each other down the length of his back and your knees buckle at the sight. There is no way he can survive you think, but something in you says that you have to at least try. So, you run inside to grab your first aid kit, every towel you can find, a sewing kit, and a pair of rubber gloves, setting them down next to the man before leaping off the steps to pull over the water hose. You quickly set about washing away the crimson rivers that sprawl across his skin to be able to better see what you are dealing with. Carefully cleaning his wounds and drying them, you pick up your sewing kit and pull out a needle and thread. Taking in a big breath, you nimbly begin to stich him back together, trying to recall the stiches you had learned in your introductory anatomy class in university. With your mind focused on the task you are shocked to realize the sun is beginning to rise. An exhausted sigh escapes your lips as you sit back against the railing of the porch, looking over the still unconscious man. He was breathing and his pulse seemed normal so you hold on to a shred of hope that he would survive this.

Pulling yourself up, you circle around him to enter your house and walk straight to your bedroom. You strip your bed, putting on clean sheets and grabbing a few extra pillows. Satisfied, you return to the porch. You groan slightly at the thought of having to move him to the bedroom, but he can’t exactly stay outside. Hooking your arms underneath his, you steady yourself and begin to walk backwards, dragging the deadweight. After several pauses to catch your breath, you finally make it to the bedroom. A few awkward attempts later to gather him in your arms and you lift him up and place him in the bed as gently as possible. Covering him with a blanket you retreat back outside to clean up the mess that littered the porch and the yard.

You stand in the light of early morning as you observe the feather in your hand. It looks like no feather you have ever seen from a bird and it shimmers with silver specs in the warm rays of the sun. You tuck the feather into your pocket and go back inside, sleep already pulling you under as you collapse on the couch.

A week later and you’ve fallen into a steady routine of taking care of your curious visitor. The trenches in his back are healing nicely and the shy angel has begun to hesitantly help you with household chores. You smile as he scrubs the dishes from that morning’s breakfast knowing that he is most likely trying to keep himself busy so he doesn’t have to think about his fall.

His fall.

He hasn’t spoken of it since after he woke up and explained what he is- was, and what happened to him. You decided it was best to not bring it up unless he spoke of it first. You were shocked when he so casually mentioned that he had been in angel in Heaven, but after some time you became comfortable with the thought of angels being real.

When he places the final dish onto the drying rack you hand him a towel, which he takes with a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, however. You frown, thinking of a way to cheer him up, even if it is just for a moment. Cautiously, you reach out and take his hand in yours. It’s incredibly warm and you feel as if all your troubles are being pushed away. The two of you stand still for a moment, not daring to say a word in fear that even the smallest of breaths would shatter the serenity that suddenly fills the room.

He gives your hand a small squeeze before slipping his hand away from your fingers. The instant his skin leaves yours the atmosphere around you feels heavy again. You look up at him, but he only stares back at you with a smile.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you suggest. He nods and waits for you to lead the way.

—

“Did it hurt?”

“What?”

“When you fell from heaven?”

Yongguk turns his head to you in bewilderment, “Did you really just ask me that?”

“What?” you shrug, “It’s a valid question.”

He breathes out a short laugh that holds no joy. “Yes,” he mumbles, “it was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I thought my body was going to be ripped in half.” He looks down at his hands clasped neatly in his lap, willing himself to hold back the tears that threaten to rock his chest.

The corners of your lips pull down as you watch his emotions play out across his features. Slowly, you reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid his scars. Yongguk crumbles under your touch and sinks his head into his hands, letting his sobs ring out across the field. Nearly a year had passed since Yongguk was cast out from his perch in the clouds, and it seemed his wounds, both inside and out, hadn’t fully healed. You sit next to him quietly, rubbing soothing circles on his arm until his tears dry up.

“I can never return,” he admits. Your heart aches at the pain you hear lacing his voice.

You both sit on a hill overlooking a field of grass that dances lazily in the gentle wind. It had become a favorite spot for the two of you to come and talk. Yongguk also confessed to liking this spot because it made him feel closer to the sky. You giggled when he had first said this to you, telling him that if he felt close while on this little hill, then he would feel extremely close if he journeyed to a mountain. He made you pinky swear to take him to the mountains one day.

Yongguk lies back with a sigh and you follow him to the ground. His hands are folded behind his head and he stares up at the passing clouds. You scoot over to rest your head on his chest, joining him in cloud watching.

“If you could return, would you?”

Yongguk is silent for a pause before he answers, “No. I’ve found a better Heaven.”


End file.
